Orphanage Rejects
by Two-Bits
Summary: Are you the only rebel here? The black sheep?
1. Twelve Guys and a Girl

My name is Wizard.

And, considering I live in a house full of teenage boys, you'd think I'd be the horniest teenage girl in the entire universe.

But I'm not. I promise.

See, I've grown up with the same twelve boys since day one of my life.

Yes, _twelve_.

My mother accidentally got pregnant, thanks to her sex-starved boyfriend. The minute he found out, though, my jerk of a father walked out. My mother was left alone, and she died nine months later, during my birth.

Sad, I know, but I didn't ever know her, so I'm okay.

I went straight to the orphanage, where I was raised by nuns.

I became best friends with Jack Kelly, mostly because he and I shared a common ground: a dead mother, and a jerk father.

Thus, I played rough-and-tumble games with the boys, rather than dolls with the girls. Soon, the nuns began giving me boy's clothes, because I kept ruining my dresses.

Eventually, my ring of friends became the twelve boys I was living with now. We were the orphanage rejects. We were the ones no one wanted to adopt, and with good reason.

Jack didn't _want_ to be adopted. This is going to sound corny, but he didn't want to go anywhere without me.

No one wanted to adopt me, because everyone wanted the sweet, frilly girl who was quiet and well-behaved. And that's what they got. Just not from me.

Spot was a different story. He hated the very _idea_ of being adopted. He was independent and also rather arrogant, a trait which only grew as the years went by, thanks to the girls who swooned at the sight of his, admittedly, captivating blue eyes. But he caused _so_ much trouble for anyone who considered adopting the "angelic" boy.

Racetrack is a gambler. Enough said. Funnily enough, all the happy couples seemed horrified at his not-to-nice language, and his inability to watch a fight without taking bets.

Kid Blink is the one _doing_ the fighting. He's a cheerful guy, and he's incredibly loyal to his friends. So if you ever insult a friend of Blink's, consider yourself pounded. Plus, he's blind in one eye. He wears an eyepatch, and I suppose the adopters didn't want to touch _that _subject

Snitch is, obviously, a thief. He suffers from kleptomania, meaning he compulsively steals things. Obviously, that's an immediate turnoff.

Crutchy is a gimp. His leg was permanently damaged, and now he walks with a crutch. So, to adopt him, one would have to lessen the amount of stairs in one's house. People are in such a hurry these days, no one has the patience to slow their pace for someone like Crutchy.

Skittery is a pessimist. He practically hates the world. The glass is never half-full, _or_ half-empty—it's just _empty._ You can imagine, no one wanted the sullen, curly-haired boy in the corner.

Swifty's a really fast runner. Want to know how he got that way? Because when he was a kid, he was on a constant sugar-high, so the nuns made him run until he ran out his high. It didn't work. So everyone thought he was psycho. It took all of the orphans to convince the nuns not to strap him in a straightjacket.

Bumlets was foreign. He only spoke Spanish. It wasn't until we were ten that he learned English. Nobody could understand him for at least three years. But then we all learned enough Spanish to understand him most of the time.

Mush was the sickly boy playing with his teddy bear. He was thin, with flesh the color of oatmeal, and for a long time he was getting sick monthly. He had Blink fretting like a mother hen once a month, as if he was a were-chicken. But eventually Mush's immune system started working properly. Now he works out, and he's _ripped._

Dutchy was ADD. He had problems learning when he was young, and he had to be tutored privately. An average couple in New York didn't have the hours to teach him. He still can't spell worth crap, but at least he can go to a normal school.

Specs was the exact opposite of Dutchy, which is funny, because they're best friends. While Dutchy had a learning disorder, Specs was a certified _genius_. By the time he was thirteen, he had read the Encyclopedias A-D,. He would have gone to Harvard when he was fifteen, if he didn't want to stay with his friends.

So. There you have it: the thirteen rejects. We're cursed with the unlucky number, but we share a friendship like no one can match.

But now we've all hit puberty, and emotions are going up and down. This is the time when our friendship will be put to the test.

I can only hope we pass.


	2. First Amendment

Shoutouts!

Swinn: Yay for being the first reviewer! Aw, I liked your pen name. Ah, well.

Unknown-Dreams: I hope so. I'm having fun writing it, so my rabid fans _ought_ to have fun reviewing it.

Margie Driscoll: Sadly, most of my stories are "cute." I hate that word. ((grin))

allaboutelephants22: Whoa! That's really cool. Maybe you'll send it to me so I can read it?

XBeLLaViTaX: Grr...Your pen name is so hard to type! Indeed it is modern time. But there's a bit of a twist to that.

koodles4you: Grazie! Haha, I usually suck at summaries. Glad you like it.

Pancakes: ((grin)) Ah...Reviews are great...

Charlie Bird: SAMMY! ((grin)) Hey, babe. KBLUSH FOREVER! Love ya!

ChoCoLaTeS: Dude, _love_ your pen name! Mmm...

ShortAtntionSpaz: Oh, I know. My sister and my mum are both ADD, and my sister's probably reading at college level(We've never actually tested her for it)and she's only in the fifth grade! I just had to use that because the only thing wrong with Dutchy in the movie is that he can't spell.

Nosilla: What can I say? I'm obsessed.

Liberating Penguins: ((grin)) Nice pen name.

SmartassLeprechaun: Grazie, signorina!

time is a waste of life: Heh heh...Me neither!

mushs-grl13: Thank ye kindly, ma'am.

* * *

"Oh, god. First day of school…" Skittery groaned, looking up at the prestigious brick building that was Manhattan High.

"First day of hell, you mean," I corrected.

"Oh, come on, guys! This'll be _fun!_" Specs said, excitedly, clutching his binders as if afraid someone would steal them.

As Skittery said, it was the first day of school, but it was worse than that. It was our first day at a _new_ school.

Even though we live in our own house, the nuns take care of us. The house was donated to the orphanage, and since we never were adopted, the nuns are letting us live in the house, under the condition that they still monitor what school we go to, and what jobs we take.

Last year, our junior year, our school had a _huge_ drug bust. Go figure it was Brooklyn High. So the nuns moved us to the nicer school in Manhattan. It was pretty clean, for a New York school.

So, today was out first day at a new school. Here we would meet new friends, new enemies, and new sucky teachers.

"Well, we can't get it over with until we start it," Mush said, logically, resituating his book bag, nervously.

He was right, but no one wanted to admit it. Giving a chorused sigh, we stepped through the front doors.

The main hallway was _packed_ with people mulling about, catching up with old friends or, in the freshmen's case (and ours), trying to figure out where the heck they were.

I nearly _died_ the instant I walked through the front door. The boys started chuckling, because they knew good and well what was going through my mind.

Small wonder M.H. is cleaner! The entire school was _swarming_ with stereotypical _preps_. And, in my baggy camo man pants (with really cool studs on the sides), and my hooded boys' muscle shirt, not to mention my black high-tops, I was rather out of place amongst the girls.

"Shut up, Spot," I muttered, as a group of pink-clad girls walked by, giving me the Evil Eye, and giving Spot the Oh-My-Gosh-You're-So-Hot Eye.

"This should prove to be interesting," Kid Blink said with a grin, winking at a pretty blonde who giggled past. I rolled my eyes.

"Interesting for you, perhaps. Torture for me," I corrected. Jack grinned.

"That's what makes it interesting!" The boys laughed. The bell rang a second time, and the students retreated into their respective classrooms, leaving the thirteen of us in an empty hall.

"Come on, let's go to the office and get our schedules and books," Snitch said, finally shoving his hands in his pockets.

There was an awkward murmur of agreement, and we began walking down the hall, our footsteps echoing, loudly, in the silence, the door labeled 'office' looming ahead.

"Excuse me, sir," Specs said, politely, opening the door. The man he had addressed spun around. He was an older man, his hair and beard gray, and he didn't look very nice. In fact, he looked furious.

"_What_ are you doing out of class?" he demanded, glaring whole-heartedly at us.

"Sir, we just need our—" Crutchy began, but the man cut him off.

"_You_ should be in class!" Crutchy took a step back, cowering under the man's wrath. Angered, I stepped up to the plate.

"Now, hold on!" I exclaimed. "Don't bite his head off! We're just here to get our schedules, and we'll be on our way!" He stared at me, and I could see his anger building.

"How _dare_ you address me!" he hissed, breathing heavily. I chuckled, sardonically.

"I can address you whenever I want!" I replied, coldly. "First amendment: freedom of speech."

Apparently, he had never learned his amendments, because in a flash, he had backhanded me across the face.

There was a shocked silence. My face stung where he had hit me. I reached a tentative hand to touch my cheek, and this action broke out pandemonium.

"How _dare_ you touch her!" Jack hissed. Mush took me gently by the shoulders, pulling me back, thus allowing the boys more room.

"I have every right to touch her," the jerk said, matter-of-factly. Spot gave him a disgusted look.

"You won't lay a hand on her again, or I'll have the friggin' _president_ on you!" he threatened. The man smirked at him, unperturbed.

"Empty threat."


	3. No Complaints

Shoutouts!

Kid Blink's Dreamer: I hope it's interesting, because I have _no_ idea where it's going!

Charlie Bird: Sammy! I know, I know. Sorry about the Blink thing. But he's not gay...Yet, anyway. (I just rhymed!)

sheepshead-jockey-4: AHHH! EVIL POETRY! ((grin)) Haha

koodles4you: Hmmm...That's a very good question. But it is one that I can't answer (for more reasons than one!).

mushs-grl13: I know! I would too! But, you know, you don't expect an old guy to backhand you!

time is a waste of life: Grazie

Margie Drsicoll: Ahh...You're a sharp one, aren't you? Well, it takes place in present time, but you shall see.

Pancakes: Grazie!

XBeLLaViTaX: Si. Modern time. Blink winked...blinked...Who can tell these days?

Unknown-Dreams: I know. I'm going to have to kick his ass or something, because he just can't get away with it!

* * *

"That sonuva _bitch!_" Spot hissed, infuriated. "I can't believe he did that to you! There are laws about that, you know! We could file a complaint for abuse, sexism, _something!_"

"You can't complain."

Like synchronized swimmers, the twelve of us turned around. I nearly died when I saw her, and I knew immediately that she was going to be my best friend.

She was my height with brown hair streaked orange. She wore baggy, faded blue jeans and a black tee shirt that said "A Pirate's life for me." I almost hugged her, but I refrained from doing so.

"Why not?" Jack demanded, trying not to be rude, but still ticked off at the man.

"Because this school has privileges. Few people know this, but Manhattan High is a boarding school. And boarding schools are allowed to do anything within limits. Just be glad he didn't use the cane," she said, nodding at me. I winced at the very thought.

"A _boarding school?_" Kid Blink exclaimed. "I thought this was a public high school!" The girl nodded.

"So does every kid who gets thrown in here. But here're the rules of the game: the guy that hit you is Pulitzer. No relation to Joseph Pulitzer, they just share the name. He's the headmaster. He can do whatever he likes. No girl is allowed to address him, or else they get whacked. First time a girl addresses him, they get a backhand. Any other time it's the cane."

I felt the boys stirring in anger. "And who are you?" I asked, ignoring their infuriated whispers. She held out her hand to me.

"Boomerang." I shook it.

"Wizard." We grinned at each other for a second; she looked just as pleased to meet a non-prep as I was. She glanced over my shoulder.

"All these yours?" she joked. I laughed.

"We're orphans. We grew up together. Guys, this is Boomerang. Boomer, this is Snitch, Crutchy, Skittery, Bumlets, Jack, Spot, Mush, Specs, Dutchy, Swifty, and Kid Blink," I introduced. She nodded at each of them, then said, "Well, it's lunchtime. Probably the only good thing about this place is that the food is real, not cafeteria 'food.'" She held up her fingers in quotation marks.

We got our food and sat down at a table together. "So, why don't they tell people that this is a boarding school?" Specs asked. Boomerang smiled, sardonically.

"They do. They tell the parents, or guardians, in your case. They just don't tell the kids. Parents send their kids here to 'reform' them. If they think there's something wrong with you, it's off to Manhattan High. This place specializes in reformation. That's why everybody here is a prep."

I looked around and, sure enough, every _single **person**_ was a prep. I switched my gaze back to her. "So why aren't you?" She smiled, proudly.

"Because they're never going to reform me. Even the teachers think I'm a hopeless case. I guess I wouldn't really be bragging if I said I was the school rebel," she replied. I laughed.

"It's something to brag about, though. Fat chance they'll turn any of us into preps. They haven't been able to turn me into a prep for seventeen years!" There was a murmur of agreement around the table.

"They started giving her boy clothes when she was seven because she kept ruining her dresses," Crutchy put in. Boomerang laughed.

"Well, if Pulitzer knows that, they'll probably work extra hard on you, so watch your back."

"Pulitzer said he could touch her whenever he wanted," Specs said, thoughtfully. "Can he really slap her for no reason?" Boomer grimaced.

"And more. Few girls here have kept their virginity through the first year. Stay away from Pulitzer if you know what's good for you," she warned.

Kid Blink opened his mouth, and I knew what question he was going to ask. Before he could speak, I stood on his foot. He shut his mouth, obediently and studied Boomer's dark expression.

There was definitely something seriously wrong with this school.


	4. Are You The Black Sheep?

Shoutouts!

Charlie Bird: SAMMY! You get the first shoutouts, because this chapter (and a few more :grin:) is dedicated to you! Yeah, but there are girls in this school, so...Love you!

Nosilla: Don't worry, Nozzy. Haha I'm going to call you Nozzy! Eventually there will be some serious ass-kicking. I just have to write it.

Margie Driscoll: Um...I did? JK! Love you!

Kid Blink's Dreamer: Ah...That is the question, no?

Artist2519: YAY! I love Crutchy! Dude...Pulitzer is _always_ on mean pills! Except now he's on pervvy mean pills.

Pancakes: Odd is my _other_ middle name.

ShortAtntionSpaz: Haha! I love Pirates. My best friend and I hve "Become Pirates" on our To-Do List.

mushs-grl13: I wouldn't either, except for the hot newsies!

Unknown-Dreams: I should have, like, four chapters dedicated to pranking him! That would be schweet!

time is a waste of life: YAY! I'm so happy! Pirates rock! Oooh...Intrigued...

* * *

"So, are you the _only_ rebel around here? The black sheep?" I teased, tilting my chair back on two legs. Boomerang shook her head.

"Nah. There's one other. His name is Charlie." My smiled widened.

"Ah…Charlie…" I teased. She laughed.

"Not exactly. He's pretty opposite of me. He's into..._jazz_." She made a face. "I can hardly stand to be around him when he's in Jazz-mode. BLEH!" I laughed.

"I _like_ Jazz!" I replied as the boys sat in various seats around us. I noted that the preps seemed to gravitate _away_ from Boomerang. This failed to surprise me in the least, but still, it was rude.

However, I did note in some satisfaction that a few girls were boldly scooting forward to chat with my boys. I chuckled, feeling a little sense of pride. I laughed when I saw Spot, though. He was getting a lot of attention (it's the eyes), and he didn't look like he was enjoying it. I've always wondered about him…

"So, where is Charlie?" Boomerang sighed.

"He's in bed, sick. He had the stomach flu last night. I made him stay in bed. But it's one of those one-day-only things, so he should be back tomorrow."

"Hey, Boomer! Who's this?" I blinked, still trying to wake up. The boy who had spoke was obviously Charlie. He was a few inches shorter than me, with black hair that looked really soft, and black rimmed glasses. He wore a white, long-sleeved button-up and a black tee shirt over it. I smirked as I read the white letters. "Drummers do it with rhythm." His jeans were baggy and torn at the knees, and he topped off the look with a black fedora.

"I'm Wizard. You're Charlie, I presume?" I said, sticking my hand out. He shook it and grinned.

"Has Boomer been dissing my music?" he chuckled. I laughed.

"Indeed, she has. But don't worry, I'm on your side. I like Jazz." He smiled.

"Well, glad _somebody_ do—" He stopped talking. I looked around. Spot had just sidled up, still in his plaid pajama shorts and a sweatshirt. I had a sneaking feeling that the sweatshirt was the only thing he was wearing with 'shirt' in the title.

"Charlie, this is my 'brother'…" I made quote marks with my fingers. "…Spot. Spot, this is the Jazz boy, Charlie." He smiled and stretched out his hand.

"HAH! Hi, I'm Charlie!" he said cheerfully, his laugh a little too loud. Too late he tugged down his fedora so no one would notice that the tips of his ears had turned red.

"Hi, I'm Spot," he replied, choosing to ignore Charlie's obvious nervousness. I looked from Charlie to Spot to Charlie, and it belatedly clicked.

Oooohhhhhhhhhh…

Grinning, I flounced off to first period, now incredibly cheered.


	5. History Class

Shoutouts!

Nanii: New reviewer! -dances-

Slightly: Stop that.

Fine. -pouts-

ShortAtntionSpaz: GASP! You forgot to REVIEW! -shrugs- You're forgiven.

Nosilla: AHA! Yay Nozzy! And the mystery will all be revealed in due time. And pretty soon I'm gonna open up a can of whoop-ass!

twilight-maiden: Yay Spot 'n Charlie! Charlie is Charlie Bird, a.k.a. Sammy, who's my bestest gay friend in the world!

Slightly: ...He's your _only_ gay friend.

I count the newsies.

Artist2519: Indeed, they do. And Crutchy's adorable. His Happy Bunny is "Cute but psycho."

Kid Blink's Dreamer: You think I could go a whole story without slash? Psht!

Maeko-Nohara: YAY! I feel SOOOO special!

Slightly: This girl must be crazy. _You're_ her favorite author?

You say that like it's improbable!

Slightly:...It _is_ improbable.

-frown- Slightly, meet D'Arcy. Biddy, dearest, we're both cursed with cute but mean muses. -sigh-

time is a waste of life: -is mauled by the yayness- AHHH! TOO MANY YAYS! You're not allowed to have coffee anymore!

Pancakes: Again, Odd is my other middle name!

Slightly: Yeah. Right inbetween Obnoxious and Psycho.

That was uncalled for.

Margie Driscoll: You obviously don't know me very well. SPOT RADIATES GAY! But fear not. The rest of the boys are (sadly) straight.

Slightly: If you ruled the world, it would be gay.

-grin- I know. In'n it great?

Charlie Bird: Aha. Spot on _what?_ o.O Aha. Yay for BARE. And yay for the sax, bass guitar, and drums! Hmm...I'm torn between drums and sax. Maybe I'll do both. Love ya much!

* * *

"This is going to be so much fun!" I squealed, sitting next to Boomer in History class. Boomerang gave me a look, one eyebrow raised. I nodded toward Spot and Charlie, who were a few seats over, discussing music. "Hel-LO! Aren't you paying attention?" I demanded. Boomer followed my gaze to the two boys and she watched them for a minute, brows furrowed. 

"...Uhm...What am I supposed to be noticing?" she asked, finally. I sighed loudly.

"Are you dense! Charlie...Spot...Charlie blushing...Spot grinning...Charlie not-so-subtley flirting..." Realization dawned over Boomer, and her eyes widened. She spun in her chair to face me and exclaimed, "Are you _serious!_" I rolled my eyes.

"DUH! It's so obv--" I was cut of by the door opening with a bang. Twisting in my seat, I grimaced as none other than Pulitzer waltzed in. I could almost _feel_ the tension as my boys glared at him. Pulitzer sat down and surveyed the class, his gaze falling on me for a good two minutes. I glared back, never blinking, as I felt the whole class watching me. I didn't want to even think about what was going on in Pulitzer's mind as his hands discreetly left the top of the desk. I glanced down at my notebook with revulsion. I could see Jack open his mouth angrily out of the corner of my eye, but I shushed him.

"Today we will be learning about Stonewall Jackson," Pulitzer said. He began to teach, hands under the desk, his eyes on me the whole class period. I never once looked up, but took notes dutifully, every few minutes scribbling something along the lines of "Bastard Pulitzer."

He did this every day for a week, and every night I'd sit in the empty cafeteria with Boomerang, Charlie, and the boys, as we talked angrily about him. Every day I was feeling more and more dread, until one night I realized this dread was prophetic.


End file.
